Wild Men of Alaska Collection - By Helmer, Tiffinie Page 0,127

were a fish wife demanding to know where her man had been out carousing.

He tossed her backpack into the corner, and wrung his hair back from his face.

Oooh, he looked all European and sexy with his wet, black hair slicked back from the sharp bones of his face. Her heartbeat increased, and she shifted on the balls of her feet.

“Miss me, Katja?”

“Parts of you,” she muttered under her breath.

His eyebrows shot up, somehow having heard her from across the room. His gaze heated, and his chest expanded with a quick breath.

She went liquid inside.

“You’ve been vorried about me,” he stated.

“Have not.”

“How can you vorry for me vhen you vant me dead?”

“I have not been worried,” she lied. “I could care less what happened to you out there.” He advanced so quickly, she didn’t have time to respond before his chest was right up against hers. So not like her.

“How long vill you continue to lie to yourself?”

A sound of frustration escaped her at his nearness. He’d left her sexually sensitive, and the minute he’d entered the room all those unquenchable needs returned with teeth.

Hungrier.

She grabbed his head and yanked him down, capturing his lips, searing her mouth against his.

A dark and dangerous sound came from him and made her insides do funny things. Heat burned within her as she gave herself over to her desires. Her tongue dueled with his, her teeth scraping. He yanked her flush against him. Every part of him completely engaged with her. She wrapped her arms around him, wanting to embrace all there was about this man. His body, his strength, his heat.

There was no more waiting. She knew the truth. For two years this is where she’d wanted to be. Since the moment she’d woken alone in that hotel room clear across the world, she’d craved his arms around her again. His scent weaved and mixed with hers, creating something that was undeniable. She broke off the kiss and grabbed the front of his shirt, ripping it open. Buttons and flannel flew, revealing the most gloriously muscled chest. Dusted with just the right amount of hair, and defined in the way of a God, Sergei was chiseled, and strong, and touchable.

She tripped him.

He took her down to the floor with him as though expecting the move, their fall cushioned by the bear rug. His hands wrenched the shirt she’d stolen from his drawer over her head, dislodging the pencils anchoring her hair in place. He growled at seeing her bare breasts.

He flipped her over so that she was on the bottom. His eyes searching hers before his hands cupped her breasts. He sucked a hardened nipple into his mouth, and her back arched off the fur beneath her, a startled gasp escaping her.

Oh God. His rough hands were not gentle as he stripped her once again of the jeans. She struggled with the button and zipper of his, not being nearly as adept at the action as he seemed to be. He released her nipple and seemed torn between taking the other one into his mouth or stripping off his own jeans. The jeans won.

“I don’t have a condom on me,” he rasped out, his breathing choppy.

“I don’t care.”

“There is protection upstairs in bed table. Plus bed.”

Not one they could use in its present condition, and she didn’t need protection. “Why didn’t you take me up there?” The question was out before she could take it back. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to lose herself in him. Silence these incessant needs.

“Katja.” He smoothed her hair away from her face. “I couldn’t take you tied to my bed like that.”

“Yes, you could have.” Seemed as if honesty was getting the best of her tonight.

“You vould have hated me.”

“Yes, I would have.” She flipped him over and straddled him, rising to view him beneath her, between her thighs.

He was glorious. Such a beautiful male specimen. It was her turn to finish stripping him bare. She didn’t waste any time. She wanted him. Wanted him hard and fast and thrusting inside her. Wanted the urgency back where troubling thoughts did not reside.

He reached up, his hands sliding up her back, splaying over her ribs. “How’d you get this bruise?”

“Not important.” At least, not now.

He burrowed his fingers in her hair and brought her lips to softly meet his. Her hair tumbled around them, as he reverently explored her mouth. He was getting gentle and tender, and she didn’t want that. Her hand snaked down between